


Handful of Dust

by takadainmate



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:20:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin episode 5x06. Morgana/Gwen. In the Dark Tower, Gwen learns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handful of Dust

**.Handful of Dust.**

It's beautiful, the way she screams. The sound is pure agony. Her sobs aching, lonely, hopeless things and Morgana cries with her. She knows what it's like. She understands how much it hurts. But Gwen needs to know. Gwen needs to understand. Not for anyone else would Morgana expend this much effort; this much _love_.

Every whispered _Please, no more_ , and every scratch of broken nails against cold stone is a memory to Morgana. A reminder of how she suffered. And not for anyone else would she relive that pain.

In her nightmares Gwen smells rotting flesh. She bathes in thick, sticky blood. She sees everyone she loves betray her.

Morgana watches.

She hates that Gwen has to see this, but of all Camelot only Gwen is worthy. Only Gwen could sympathise. Hate fills her, a fathomless rage at what Uther and Arthur and all those simpering King’s Men have done to her. To _them_.

Morgana smiles sadly, her eyes red and swollen with sorrow. Now, Gwen will know how she has felt these past five years.

***

Her lips are cold when Morgana touches them. In sleep, Gwen's brows knit together as though confused. It's endearing.

Morgana lets her fingers run over Gwen's cheek, pushes hair away from her face where it hangs, damp and tangled, over her eyes. Morgana wishes to see. She wants Gwen to know she does this for her own good. She wants Gwen to know this will make things _better_ , but she can't. Not yet. She can't and that hurts.

There is a heavy cloak around her shoulders, the nights growing cold, and Morgana wants nothing more than to cover Gwen with it. But she can't.

In truth, she should not even allow herself this much; touch. Comfort.

Morgana wipes the tears from Gwen's face. Whispered words clean the dark smears of tar from her neck. There, angry red lines stand out starkly against Gwen's skin where she has scratched and torn at herself; Morgana remembers how much easier the pain is than the fear. She leans down, gently kisses away the marks. Back then, hidden from the world and chained into darkness, Morgana would have given anything to have had such comfort.

Just for a little while Morgana lays herself down on the cold stone floor beside Gwen, watches her breath quicken, then slow. Watches her shift restlessly.

“Shh,” Morgana hushes her, strokes along Gwen’s side, presses lips to the side of her mouth. Beneath her, Gwen relaxes, and Morgana knows she has already won.

***

The refusals. The denial. Morgana remembers those too. They frustrate her, try her patience and her temper, but Morgana understands. _We cling to our lies_ , she reminds herself, _because we do not want to know the truth_.

And Morgana only shows her truth: someday, Arthur will not hear her. Someday, Merlin will betray her. Someday, the so-called brave and noble Knights of Camelot will leave her to rot and die.

"I'm sorry," Morgana croons. "I'm so sorry."

This is the truth.

She holds Gwen in her arms, rocking her backwards and forwards and Gwen just stares at nothing and says nothing and her face is a blank, unbelieving thing. It is breathtaking in its perfection.

Gently, Morgana caresses Gwen's face, whispers old magic into her ears; warm, kind, forgiving magic. She would give Gwen anything. She would give Gwen this.

"I'm here," she tells her. "I'll keep you safe."

This, too, is truth.

There are screams in Gwen's mind; Morgana can hear an echo of them. There are screams in her own mind too. Mostly her own.

"They would leave me here." Gwen's words are quiet, her voice hoarse. Morgana pulls her closer. She is shaking. Cold. Scared. The world is dark now. Morgana conjures fire in her hand, holds it out for Gwen to see. Her eyes reflect the flames like the most exquisite stained glass.

"They would. I wouldn't."

The despair and desolation on Gwen's face when she turns to look at Gwen is almost too much to bear. Morgana almost lets her go; almost takes her from this dark place, almost lets her leave to live amongst Arthur's lies. But Morgana is strong. For Gwen, she can do this.

"I wouldn't," Morgana repeats, and leans in until their foreheads touch and Morgana can taste Gwen's breath.

She must be hungry. Gwen's eyes are only half open, heavy, as though she does not have even the will to stay awake any more.

It is the most natural thing in the world for Morgana to reach around Gwen's tense body to stroke her hair.

Soon they would eat together, Morgana promises. They would share in each other’s company, and perhaps some day even laugh together.

For now, this is enough.

***

They eat, and the only sounds are of tearing bread, the pouring of water, the clink of a spoon against the side of a bowl.

Gwen looks around warily even as she eats as though she expects another ghost, another horror to jump out at her from behind the masonry. She is not unfounded in her caution. There is danger everywhere. Morgana knows.

But she is too tense. She sees things that are not there. Jumps at sounds only she can hear. This is what Morgana can free her from.

"You are safe with me," Morgana reminds her softly, and Gwen's gaze snaps to meet Morgana's.

"You brought me here," Gwen says.

Morgana nods her head slowly, regretfully. "I did."

"Let me go?"

"That is not within my power."

"But you-"

"You have to see." Morgana reaches out, covers Gwen's hand with her own. Gwen almost doesn't flinch at the touch. "You do this to yourself."

 _You lie to yourself, like they do_ , Morgana wants to say. _You serve a cause built on pain and suffering_. But she cannot tell Gwen these things. She's not ready to hear them. She hopes, for both their sakes, she learns this lesson soon.

***

"When I was a little girl," Gwen tells her, head pillowed in Morgana’s skirts, clinging tightly to her sleeve, "I was afraid of the dark."

"All little girls are afraid of the dark." Morgana kisses her cheek, rubs her arm. "I was afraid, too."

For so long every moment, waking or asleep, there was only the darkness. It devoured her. Destroyed her. Left her with nothing but her own fear for company. When she finally found herself free of it all, once her mind finally slotted back into place and she could think of more than pain and survival, Morgana swore to herself she would never go back to that. Now, she would make sure Gwen never had to go back to that too. If only she'd _relent_.

In her lap, Gwen shifts, looking up at Morgana with large eyes. "You were?"

"Yes." Morgana smiles. This truth she can offer Gwen. "But we do not need to be afraid. You can come with me. I can show you."

There are so, _so_ many things Morgana would show Gwen if she'd just let her.

Predictably, Gwen shakes her head. "I can't."

She wouldn't be Gwen, Morgana supposes, if she wasn't stubborn.

Gwen frowns. "I don't remember why, but I can't."

"It's another lie they've told you," Morgana says sadly. She runs the back of her fingers across Gwen's chin, down her neck, to the collar of her dress. Gwen's smile is a brittle, beautiful sight. "Think on it. I will return."

There is panic then, such aching terror, and Morgana hates that she must pry them both apart. As she closes the door behind her she hears Gwen's pleas. She listens as she pounds her fists against the door. When she next sees her Morgana knows that Gwen's hands will be bloodied and bruised.

Morgana does not move away from the door until there is silence.

***

It is morning. Morgana does not know how many days have passed, but it is morning and there is sun streaming in through the windows and Morgana is alone. For too long she has been alone. It was not meant to be like this, Morgana thinks. This was never her fate.

It will not be long though, she is certain. Now, when she goes to see Gwen there is relief in her eyes rather than suspicion. Morgana is respite. She is warmth and light. She is all these things to Gwen and that is how it is meant to be.

It is morning and the sun is bright and Morgana waits. She has waited years. She can wait a few more hours.

Deep within the walls of this castle that is not a castle Gwen calls Morgana's name and Morgana waits.

***

This time, Gwen is huddled in the farthest corner, hidden away in her own mind, in the shadows. Morgana loves the shadows. They have always been kind to her. Perhaps now they will be kind to Gwen too.

"I can hear them," Gwen is saying. "I can hear them. I can hear them." Over and over. There is a cut on her forehead, a bruise around her eye. Morgana crouches down in front of Gwen and smoothes them away.

"They are loud, yes," Morgana agrees. They whisper terrible cruel things. Morgana would gut them all for speaking of Gwen in such a way. She would tear out their tongues before letting Gwen hear the things they say, but Gwen has to _know_.

"Why?" Gwen asks, blinking away tears, and it still amazes Morgana that she has any left to shed.

"Because they are hateful." It is not really an answer, but it is the only one she has to give. Gwen nods as though she understands.

"You can stop them?"

"Yes." Morgana shifts closer, holds Gwen's face in her hands, gently. She does not want to frighten her. She doesn't want to hurt her.

There is a long considering pause, Gwen looks at Morgana, she looks to the room beyond, filled with menace and slow decay. She looks to her own shoes, as though they might help, until she looks up once more to meet Morgana's eyes. "Show me?"

Morgana smiles, leans closer, and Gwen shifts her position to allow it.

"Are you certain?"

Gwen is fearless. "No."

This time Gwen reaches out, tentatively touches Morgana's cheeks with the tips of her fingers. She watches her own hands, her eyes wide as though she can't quite believe what she is doing. This is true. This is real.

"Then I will show you."

Morgana bows her head until her lips meet Gwen's, just a gentle press. Gwen does not flinch at all. She does not shy away.

Morgana tastes sorrow and loneliness on Gwen's mouth as she runs her tongue over dried, cracked lips, tastes blood where the skin has split. She kisses the hurt. Gwen pushes herself closer, kisses back, and just as Morgana had known- as she's known for years- the whispers around them fall silent.

***

They have been apart for days. Too many days. Too many nights. She has listened to their lies. She has withstood their hands on her- _Arthur's_ hands on her- and their false platitudes and assurances. They weren't there. They don't see.

In her dreams Gwen sees that room, and it is dark and damp and cold, like her whole life before Morgana had _shown_ her. Morgana, with her sad, old eyes and long, dark hair, who had laid her down in that terrible place and touched her and kissed her and made everything _bright_.

They left her to the torture, just as they had left Morgana to torture, and Gwen would not soon forget it.

She slips out of bed easily, away from warm, hated silk sheets and into the cold embrace of the night air. There is a cool breeze that caresses her face as she winds her way through narrow, empty streets towards the Eastern Gate. It reminds her of stone under her back, cold fingers grazing over her stomach.

It is easier, better, to remember this than the cold dread and fear that tore at her chest in that dark hateful place.

The door of the gate opens easily and it is strange, she thinks, to be able to come and go as she pleases. There are still splinters in her hands and under her finger nails.

They locked her in that place.

Beyond the city walls Gwen walks the low road. Once, this path was filled with bandits, now it is as silent as the grave. There is no fear in her, but her pace is fast.

It has been days.

The first sight of Morgana is like breathing again after being held under water for too long; sound and smell and taste sharpen. Warmth fills her.

Words; pointless, and then- much better, more meaningful- they press close enough together that Gwen can feel every inch and curve of Morgana against her. Their lips know each other well.

Soon, Morgana's hands find their way under the thin skirt of her nightgown, pushing into her, around her, finding every place that makes Gwen's face heat and her breath catch. She should be ashamed, she thinks, to do such things so openly. Outside. They are not well-hidden. But Morgana has taught her to be unafraid. Morgana has taught her how much her protection is worth. Morgana has taught Gwen how to open to her, let herself be unravelled and undone and to revel in the joy of every moment of it.

For her generosity, for her kindness, for her _love_ Gwen touches and teases Morgana in return. Gwen adores the way Morgana sighs into her, bites gently at Gwen's ear and whispers spells that could be anything but Gwen knows mean strength, together, and safety.

They do not undress, there is no time to lie down on the damp forest floor before they have found a rhythm and they are kissing and finding pleasure in each other and it is all over too quickly. Far too quickly, leaving them panting and clinging together and Gwen is shivering in the night air. Morgana wraps her heavy cloak around Gwen's shoulders, embraces her.

"There will be time for more," she promises, and Gwen believes her.

**.End.**


End file.
